


The First Time

by missjennacole



Series: Self Harm Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjennacole/pseuds/missjennacole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first week at Stanford without Dean. The first week is the hardest right..?<br/>It's a drabble but I wrote it mostly as an art piece on self-harm.<br/>Disclaimer: I don't own SPN, I don't condone Self-Harm and I'm in no way trying to promote the action of it. I'm trying to promote awareness to the topic that is incredibly neglected.<br/>If your having problems with self-harm, I strongly suggest the self-harm hotline: 1-800-273-TALK</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

The first week was the worst week as Sam began adjusting to his new life; A life free of his father and yet still somehow trapped inside the cage John had kept him in for what seems like an eternity. He was at Stanford now, without Dean. Even though he’d seen his brother’s face only a few days earlier, the memory was already fading. All his memories were. The teasing way Dean would ruffle Sam’s hair, how he’d open a beer bottle with his teeth, or the way the faint lines around Dean’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Even the way his lips felt, warm and soft with just a faint taste of whiskey as they explored each other for the first time. Sam had been completely insatiable, greedy for his brother’s calloused touch. But even that memory was hazy now. He reached for his phone, scrolling through the contacts and finding Dean’s name before pressing send. It went straight to voicemail.

“Hey, I’m busy right now, leave your name and nightmare and I’ll get back to ya.” Sam hung up with a disappointed sigh. It was too late to beg for forgiveness now. He didn’t deserve it anymore. He’d lost that option the night he walked out that motel room door, bag in hand, with no thoughts of ever turning back. No, it was much too late now. He felt a shroud of darkness begin to encompass him. That night was the first time he attempted to vanquish the resonant pain and disappointment of his mistake with the metallic kiss of his blade. He watched the dark pearls of crimson bubble up from beneath his skin. It felt as if all of his anxieties were seeping out of him, pooling on the floor in a puddle of despair. He let his eyes slipped closed, suddenly feeling lighter, almost at peace with the world. When reality had eventually set back into his consciousness, he looked down at his arm. There were six swollen tally marks carved into his flesh. One mark for every day he’d gone without Dean, his soul mate, the love of his life. He wasn’t sure when or exactly how it happened but his arm was covered in blood now. He let his eyes flick back up to the ceiling as he began to think.

The first week was the worst right? One week down, the rest of his life to go.


End file.
